Calling All A-Listers…

 

[Scene: The basement of a small church somewhere in Minneapolis. A group of two dozen men and women meet to plan a march protesting ICE and other Federal agencies, and the tactics deployed in the city. The group leader, Bart Knutsen, speaks…]

“Okay, we’ve notified the authorities, we have our permits, and here is the plan. On Friday, two days from now, we will march on 3^rd Avenue from the Convention Center, past City Hall, to the Federal Building and Courthouse, where we will hold a major rally—”

“A-listers,” a silver-haired man in the back of the room calls out.

“I’m sorry, Bart says. What was that?” Bart peers into the back of the room, looking for the man who spoke out.

“I said, ‘A-listers.’” The old man stands up. “You should have some A-listers to lead your march.”

Bart recognizes the man. It is his father. “Oh…Hi, Pop. Thanks for coming out. Everyone—that’s my dad, Bart Sr.”

[The room erupts with cries of “Hi, Pop! Welcome! Glad you’re here!”]

“Let’s get back to reviewing the plan, shall we?” Bart tries to regain control of the meeting.

“I cut my teeth on protest marches in the sixties,” Pop says. “We always had celebrities up front, leading the march. Guaranteed to lead the evening news and get front-page photos on every newspaper in the country.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Pop—” Bart is clearly annoyed.

“Harry Belafonte. Sydney Poitier. Marlon Brando. Rita Moreno. Paul Newman. Sammy Davis Jr. They all came out,” Pop says.

“Okay, moving on—”

“And Pete Seeger, and Joan Baez, they always showed up. Didn’t even need to ask. And Joan would drag Bob Dylan along, too.” Pop smiles as the memory warms his heart.

“Tell us more, Pop!” someone in the crowd shouts.

“Pete singing, ‘This land is your land…,’ and Joanie and Bob singing, ‘Blowin’ in the Wind.’ Everybody joining in on ‘We Shall Overcome.’ I tell ya, it was beautiful.”

“Ah geez…” Bart drops his chin to his chest; his audience has been hijacked.

“But…sad to say, all those old lions are either gone, or they’re just too old,” Pop continues. “Dylan—he don’t march no mo.” The crowd chuckles. Pop has their rapt attention. “So… I’m kinda out of touch. Who are the young lions today? Who can step up and take the torch, so to speak?”

[People in the crowd look at each other and shrug their shoulders.]

“How ’bout that beautiful girl, used to sing with Destiny’s Child?”

“You mean Beyonce’, Pop?”

“Yeah, her. And she could bring her hubby. What’s his name…Jazzy?”

“It’s Jay Z, Pop.”

“There ya go. And Jay Z could bring Chris Rock. And Chris could bring Will Smith.”

[The room explodes with laughter. People begin to shout suggestions.]

“What about Taylor Swift? And she could bring Travis.”

“And Travis could invite Patrick and Brittany Mahomes.”

Pop grins from ear to ear. “That’s the spirit! That would be a fine front line for your march. The press would be all over it. And don’t you have some sports heroes in this town? What about Anthony Edwards and Justin Jefferson? What about the Hall-of-famer Joe Mauer?”

“Okay, calm down, everybody,” Bart cries. “It’s a little late for A-listers. Besides, let’s face it, none of ’em want to come out in Minneapolis in January.”

[The room goes silent. Several people nod their heads in agreement. If only this were July or August.]

“Maybe you’re right, son,” Pop says. “Maybe it’s too cold for A-listers. Or maybe it’s because brown people don’t buy tickets…but the MAGA folks do.” In Pop’s mind, Pete Seeger and Joan Baez are singing, “Where have all the flowers gone…”

[Pop turns to leave, climbing the stairs to street level. The people watch him go in silence. Finally, Bart resumes the planning session…]

“Okay, the march will step off from the Convention Center at 10 am sharp…”

_____